


Tea for One

by bewilderedearthguest



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: (Francis Bacon is still alive), A lonely young man finds his people, Arwen is not the mythical being we all think of her as..., Bromance blossoms into something else, Existential Loneliness, F/F, Gen, Inevitable bonds grow with time, LOTR Student Apartment Block, Legolas deals drugs, M/M, Modern AU, Smoking and Toking for the First Time, You won't believe who lives next door, so I'm thinking early 90s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2559245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewilderedearthguest/pseuds/bewilderedearthguest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty two year old Kili finds himself shrinking in the midst of a big city. He is convinced that there is a huge unhappiness in the average soul, and he perceives loneliness to be an inevitable fact of human existence. Fate intervenes and he stumbles upon the happiest of souls – Fili and the gang - all of whom brighten his world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One: Early Morning

**Author's Note:**

> _Hi All, first disclaimer is that I am Australian and am hence not very in-the-know when it comes to American cities etc. I just felt this should be set in San Francisco, and research tells me SF is one of the cities comparable to Sydney - a city I know well. So I'll write SF as though it is Sydney; so sorry if I get things a little wrong (though don't worry, I won't forget the fog)._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Secondly, this is my first fanfic! I've been reading many over the past year, but today I woke up and decided to write something and post it! Lets see how it goes!_
> 
>  
> 
> _Oh, and this whole thing started because I was listening to Led Zeppelin's ' Tea for One' while also listening to Rainy Mood (http://www.rainymood.com/). Give it a go, guys!_

# Tea for One

#####  Chapter 1 

_How come twenty four hours, Baby, sometimes seems to slip into days?_

  
The cigarette smoke swirling languidly at the ceiling corners of the claustrophobic room threatens to collapse in on him as he lays prostrate among the old, stagnant sheets. The sweet smell of stale sweat wafting softly from the grimy bed and – he is sure – from his crusty, unwashed underclothes, seems to add to the sick, polluted air the room has acquired.

  
His bones are jelly; he has the feeling he couldn’t make it to the door to sort through the pile of mail growing on the mat- or even to the fridge to throw out the milk he can smell has gone off - even if he wanted to. He has found himself absorbed by the bed, willpower fading with every minute that passes, sinking lower and lower into the wiry mattress as his exhaustion takes hold.

 

  
 _How come a minute seems like a lifetime when I feel this way?_

He can feel himself switching off, but jerks into full consciousness when the cigarette he has forgotten about burns to his fingertips. He casts the butt over the edge of the bed and snaps his eyes shut again. He can smell the unquenched butt continue to burn on the greasy carpet and briefly contemplates the not-so-unforeseeable outcome of his room erupting into flames around him as he smolders on the bed.

_He imagines the neighbours knocking on the door with increasing ferocity, concerned by the infiltration of smoke into their own apartments; he imagines the chaos of the hall smoke alarms whining in protest as the air becomes thick with ash and the smell of burning flesh fills the corridor. He sees the firemen, swathed in protective gear, kicking down the door and searching the apartment for it's tenant before stumbling upon his cremated remains..._

He has changed his mind about burning alive by this point and lazily stretches himself closer to the butt, reaching a foot out to extinguish the smolder. Having been pulled from his reverie, he takes a good look around him and wrinkles his nose in distaste. At that moment the phone rings and he almost kicks himself for forgetting to disconnect the device at the wall. The dial tone grates on ears that have become adjusted to silence these past few – what- days? A week? He’s not all too sure. Annoyance bubbles inside him as the rings seem to increase in urgency.

The answering machine takes a message from a telemarketer selling God-knows-what. The message ends and the room is once again engulfed in silence.

Despite his irritation at the idea of inevitably being checked on after a week’s disappearance – perhaps by his workmates from the bar or maybe even the landlady who lives in the apartment underneath him – he finds himself feeling oddly rejected that his absence from his -albeit recently instilled- daily routine has caused no distress to anyone. Not even himself.

He feels the self-pity creep up on him as quickly as the self-disgust. He’s sitting in a dark grungy room in a frumpy apartment located in a terrible part of town. He hasn’t showered since that first night, nor has he changed his clothes or even brushed his teeth. And he knows he looks like hell for it.

Suddenly, the smell of decay in the room inspires his gag reflex and for the first time since he retreated into the apartment, he stumbles over the sea of cigarette butts and occasional junk food wrappers that surrounds the island of the bed to reach the bedroom door. He pulls it open and steps out. He now realizes the stench from his bedroom has spread throughout his entire living quarters. In front of him lies the poorly lit, short corridor that leads through to the apartment entrance; he trods past the cramped bathroom towards the moldy kitchenette which branches out a couple meters along the hallway to the left.

He has decided to address the deterioration left in the wake of his neglect one step at a time - if at all. Even though he has left the room, he is still filled with a sense of self-destruction which only feeds his desire to simply watch his life crumble around him without his intervention.

His train of thought is cut short as he opens the fridge and immediately runs to the sink – where he vomits. Though sparsely populated, the fridge shelves now boast a flourishing breeding ground for bacteria; unlike his acquaintances, they at least have responded to his withdrawal from the world outside of the bedroom.

Now that he has been given a two minute reprieve from his hazy state, he feels the weight of responsibility settle on him for the first time. Splashing his face with icy tap water, he decides the feeling of water cleansing his grimy skin is a delicious one. Inspired, he slowly makes his way to the bathroom where he locates a clean towel stowed under the sink. He avoids the wall-mirror that hangs on the door, aware that in his somewhat fragile state, the last thing he needs is confirmation of his neglect in the way of his appearance.

Stripping from the t shirt and boxer shorts that have become his second skin, he notices that in the week of hibernation he has lost weight. In fact, he can see ribs and hip bones where they were once only hinted at. This knowledge makes him feel weaker than beforehand.

He turns on the tap and waits impatiently beside the shower for warmth to come. After five minutes, it becomes clear that there is no hot water and he is either destined to freeze his balls off in an attempt to clean himself, or remain grimy. Finally, he feels the full weight of several days of isolation as he realizes he hasn’t paid the hot water bill. He’s a twenty two year old man standing bony and naked in the middle of his bathroom, unable to take a fucking shower. He begins to feel even more pathetic.

His self-annoyance allows him to punish himself with a quick ball-freezing shower, during which he attempts to brush out several days’ worth of knots from his long hair with his shaking fingertips. Spluttering, he deems himself sufficiently clean and jumps out of the cold, into the warmth of the towel. He decides that the shame he now feels from having dropped the ball this past week has resulted in consolidating his desire to pick it all back up again. The next step in his plan to recover his life is to feed his body a nutritious meal to make up for his recent diet of chips and tobacco. But he knows the cupboards are empty and his fridge hosts inedible food. The corner shop, then, or maybe even the diner.

He returns to the bedroom – the lair, he now sees it – and rummages through the draws to find some fresh clothes. He feels a spark of enthusiasm, and wonders at the strange nature of his moods. He has absolutely no idea how he got from immobile, resigned and slightly suicidal to normal in the space of an hour. He doesn’t care to contemplate long, lest he regresses.

Along with his boxers he pulls out his faithful black skinny jeans and a non-distinctive dark blue long sleeved shirt. He searches around the room for his much loved army jacket, locating it under the bed. He wishes he could leave the bedroom window open tonight, still abhorring the smell, but knows that it’ll probably result in him being robbed.

He stretches his legs, feeling the muscle complain after days of disuse. He grabs ten dollars from his cash draw and heads down the corridor to the front door. Regrettably, he just can’t avoid the small mountain of envelopes that has settled underneath the mail slit. Biting his lip he briefly sifts through his mail; as he suspected, there are bills to pay, there are commissions to address. All of which he’s pretty confident he can deal with – tomorrow. With that, he opens the door and heads outside into the communal corridor, finally making it to the apartment block entrance area and out the door.

………...........................................................................................…….

He wakes up at one in the morning as per usual and resigns himself to another sleepless night. He knows he isn’t truly disappointed by the prospect, in fact he has come to enjoy what he considers to be stolen time. He’s fallen asleep on his homework, and realizes that he probably bears a stamp of his fresh study notes across his cheek. In addition, he’s not unaware of the fact that he has been drooling in his sleep again, and upon confirmation of this fact he shamefully wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

He is still in his jeans and sweater, having collapsed onto the sofa after his lab session a handful of hours ago. He gets up, shoulders creaking, and pads over to the bathroom. One look in the mirror tells him that the blue equations stamped on his face are faint and easily removed with cold water. He ties chin length blonde hair back into a smooth pony tail and decides he will use today’s undefined hours to explore the next block along from his apartment. It’s the start of term and as such he’s only lived here a few weeks. There is a great deal of uncharted territory, and from the looks of it, many nights over which he can remedy this.

Softly tiptoeing over to the entrance- in an attempt to avoid waking his roommate- he carefully pulls on the boots he strategically keeps by the door for nights such as this one. He decides getting food is his first objective. He’s had his eye on the diner several blocks away and hasn’t eaten since before the 5 hour laboratory this afternoon. The decision is made.

In a minute, he’s ready, pulling on the brown leather jacket that hangs on the wall and with his wallet tucked into his back pocket. He opens the door painfully slowly to avoid creaking and slips out into the student apartment lobby. Making his way down the stairs he reaches the front door in no time and steps out into the cool night.

…………………...................................................................................…..

 

There were many witnesses to be called to the station the next day. Though the incident occurred in the early hours of the morning, at around one thirty, the diner was unusually populated on the night of the 3rd November. The Police Commissioner released a statement by three in the afternoon on the 4th, detailing the hold up and resulting arrest.

The statement addressed the hospitalization of two young men under the age of 25 who were responsible for the arrest of the offenders. Neither were found in a critical condition. More details will be released at a later date.

 


	2. Chapter Two; Diner Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry about the sulking guys, but I'm sure there is a good reason for it!_   
>  _So...what happened at the Diner?_

###  Chapter 2 

Now that he is out of the flat, his confidence begins to wane. He knows he is overwhelmed; he has been sorely under-stimulated for days now, and the sights and sounds that surround him - despite it being the early hours of the morning - make him uncomfortable. He zips up his jacket to his chin, thankful for its encompassing warmth. He forgets how cold it can get over here, not to mention the fact that his weight loss has left him less substantial and the cold goes right through him. He reaches into his pocket and procures a cigarette, placing it between his teeth as he fumbles with his trusty lighter, fingers stiff from the cold. He shudders visibly as he inhales the hot smoke, holding his breath for several seconds before exhaling.

He makes it to the intersection between the corner store and the diner. For once, the latter looks packed; he has walked past it on many an afternoon on his way to work and it always looked to him like a ghost joint. 

 

Tonight, couples abound, resting their joined hands on the tabletops, and laughter spills through the ajar door as yet another customer is drawn into the warmth of the establishment. He feels his heart ache, and he recognises that he is very much in need of human company. Before he commits to the decision, he considers the situation. He feels as though he has gone feral; feels himself a man set apart from the effervescent youth that inhabits the city. He very nearly shies from the near irresistible buzz this diner is emanating, and it makes him feel spineless and juvenile. Quenching his cigarette butt on the sidewalk outside, he pushes on the door. He’s not going to let his desolation win this round.

 

As he steps into the warmth, several heads look up, acknowledging his arrival. He finds this oddly comforting, as though tonight he is no longer a spectator but a participator. He still can’t reconcile his change of heart; one and a half hours ago, he was almost catatonic. Now he feels engulfed in something, and it is though a weight is lifted from his chest. He can’t believe that all it took was stepping out of his room and onto the bustling street. 

 

All tables are full to the brim with animated customers, and as such, he walks over to the vacant bar stools in the far corner of the room where he can watch the interaction around him unfold. It is so warm by the bar that he removes his jacket. The waiter comes over and offers him a drink; under the waiter’s gaze he squirms with unease. He still hasn’t seen his reflection and he imagines himself hollow cheeked and ratty haired. He suddenly feels as though he is a black hole, sucking all the goodness from the room simply by being there. He wants to get up and leave, this has been a stupid decision. Instead, he orders the house favorite, the club sandwich, and a hot coffee. He figures there’s no way he’s going back to the apartment before dawn. He also can’t deny the fact that he is finding strength in himself the further he is immersed in the normality of the situation.

 

The waiter walks off with his order and, contemplating the wait for the food, he makes his way to the men’s room; the door being several feet from where he is sitting. Once inside, he squares his shoulders and faces the mirror full-frontally. He has to admit he expected worse. While his face is paler –with an unmistakable grey tinge- and slightly more angular than usual, it is nonetheless the same face he remembers. His eyes look smaller with tiredness and there are unsightly bags underneath them, but his eyebrows are still as full, his nose still as straight and his hair still as thick. He needs to shave badly; in order to lessen his resemblance to Cousin It, he fumbles through his pocket and locates a hairband with which he secures a messy bun at the nape of his neck. Alright, he thinks, bringing himself up to full height, only then realizing that he’s been hunched over this whole time. He appreciates the confidence that is suggested when he adopts a straighter posture, as though by fooling others he can convince himself that he is in control. And, he thinks as a tag along, at least he doesn’t smell bad anymore. 

 

He leaves the bathroom, feeling a little less out of place, and reclaims his seat. Another guy wearing a brown leather jacket has taken up the seat next to him. Although he doesn’t mean to stare, he can’t help but notice the strange faded blue writing that spreads across the man’s face on the left cheek- the cheek facing him. Upon discreet inspection the writing, he notices, looks like equations- Chemistry, his memory supplies. He wonders vaguely why somebody would walk around with equations on their face but lets it go when his food arrives. He is so hungry he literally can’t get the food into his mouth in time. He feels frenzied, both unbelievably thrilled and fiercely impatient in equal measure as he battles with himself, trying to get the food down with more haste than his body can physically allow. He realizes he must look a little crazy, but all he gets is a smile from the waiter and a chuckle from Equations guy, who gets up and heads into the bathroom. He sips at the black coffee and feels himself relax into the room.

 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

He walks freely through the streets outside the apartment, revelling in the excitement he feels at the prospect of finding his feet in this spectacular city. He can’t wait to walk down town with a boisterous group of friends, all heading to their regular hang out for a catch up and a meal. Perhaps they will frequent the diner on the next block; maybe, as was normal with the friends he left back home, they will stay out late enough to order a round of breakfast before dispersing until next time. He feels weightless, and realizes he is grinning at the thought of the vibrant life he will make for himself here. 

 

He swings past the corner and heads towards the teeming diner, feeling his stomach growling. It’s a very inviting place, with old booths along the front window and a bar in the corner – all in all, it’s been a good decision to investigate this corner of town. The booths are all full, but he catches the eye of the friendly waiter who indicates towards the free seat at the bar. He obliges happily and orders the Chicken Caesar. There is old music coming from the jukebox by the door and he hums along to a familiar tune. 

 

A moment later, a guy emerges from the bathroom and returns to the seat next to him, on which the guy’s khaki jacket has been sitting. The man looks like he’s seen better days, and perhaps this isn’t far from this truth he notes as he watches his neighbour demolish a sandwich in twenty seconds flat. When the sandwich is gone, the man looks up apologetically, at which he can’t hold back a laugh. But watching him eat his food with such vigour has made him even hungrier, and he heads to the bathroom, welcoming a distraction.

 

While he is cleaning his hands, he realizes the branded study notes he thought he had washed from his cheek are still visible, apparently unseen in the dim light of his bathroom. Shit. He scrubs at the skin with soap and a paper towel this time until he is happy with the result, yet he feels embarrassed. Well, he can’t do anything about it now, he affirms as he walks back to the bar with the hope that the food is waiting. 

What he doesn’t expect is to return to a silent room. He certainly doesn’t expect to be faced with the sight of two gun barrels pointed at his chest and the sound of a sharp intake of breath from the guy on the floor to his right. Shit, he thinks for the second time in a minute.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey guys! Second update today (I'm on a roll)!_  
>  Listen to "He Can Only Hold Her For So Long" by Amy Winehouse if you want to know what set the scene for the Diner. I love her music so, so much.


	3. Chapter 3: Bathroom Barricade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So it looks like Fili missed out on a little something while he freshened up..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hi All! I'm a machine today, here's the next chapter to our little story. It's gathering a bit of speed and interest. Lets see how we go!_
> 
>  
> 
> _While I wrote this morning I was listening to 'Is this Love' by Mr Marley; please do me the favour of playing it while you read, just makes the scene less serious (which was the point)._
> 
> _I was totally inspired by Pulp Fiction (the bar scene with "Let's Stay Together" by Al Green)._
> 
>  
> 
> _Enjoy my lovelies!_

###  Chapter 3 

He has barely two seconds to register the sound of the door shattering against its frame and the resounding hush that settles like a delicate film over the stunned customers before there are four men moving aggressively down the aisle with guns in their outstretched hands. His coffee drips onto his leg as he hurries to free his hands. One of the men fires his gun towards the ceiling, shattering a hanging lamp which showers the diners with glass. He can feel the hot sting of small cuts covering his cheek while he, along with the others, throws himself on the ground. 

Blessed with terrible timing, Equations guy, now boasting a well-scrubbed, unmarked cheek, waltzes out of the restroom, clearly unprepared for the sight before him. He half expects him to smoothly turn on his heal and retreat back behind the safety of the door. But before the guy so much as widens his eyes in surprise, his appearance has drawn the attention of the men, and their guns have reevaluated their next target.

This has all occurred in the space of twenty seconds and his head is reeling with inertia, as though he’s stepped into a train carriage that has accelerated from a stand-still to travelling at one hundred miles per hour in the space of one breath.

Holy fuck. 

He’s about to watch the gunning down of a complete stranger. His blood is gushing in his ears, his pulse so loud and fast he thinks his heart may either jump out of his chest or stop all together. Nausea almost overcomes him.

That’s when the remaining ceiling lamps short-circuit and flicker out.

Suddenly, they are all engulfed in darkness. One of the gunmen swears loudly and there is a distinct shuffling as the gang reconvenes in the middle of the room. This was clearly not part of the plan. He scans the diner and notes vaguely that the Jukebox is playing Bob Marley’s _Is This Love_ which he registers somewhere at the back of his mind as almost comical.

“Which one of you fucking morons shot the light?”

There are no verbal replies from the other group members, but if the rustle of clothing is anything to go by, one or two are making non-committal shrugs. 

While the gang huddles and discusses their options in angry, hushed voices, he turns in the direction of his ally’s silhouette, the frozen form still holding open the bathroom door. Before he can think his plan through, he’s hauling himself as silently as possible over to the door and sneaking soundlessly through the gap. He senses the other guy slip in behind him and before long, they find themselves barricaded in the humid, tiled bathroom.

He avoids the light switch so as not to draw any further attention to them - though to be fair, he isn’t yet sure if their absence from the room has been acknowledged. He remembers his lighter, sitting comfortably in his pocket, and flicks it to life. Judging by the weight of the device, he reckons he’s got enough butane to last them a couple of minutes, or maybe they can set alight some paper towels while they conjure up a plan. The tag along thought of the smoke and gas from the lighter revealing their hiding place kills the idea as it forms. He looks up at the other guy over the flickering flame, who seems to read his mind as he reaches to close the lighter lid.

So, they’re stuck in the cold, dark restroom while chaos no doubt ensues behind the door. Both young men slide down the wall towards the floor, getting comfortable in preparation for a possibly painful wait as they gather their thoughts. Sprawled on the ground, he realises they can still hear the Bob Marley song wafting from under the door. This situation is just getting crazier and crazier by the minute.


	4. Chapter 4: Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The guys are trapped in a bathroom together; I think it's safe to assume they are finally going to interact in this chapter! Things don't really turn out as expected though. Maybe some awkwardness ensues._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I laughed so hard when I wrote this, then I reread it and it didn't have quite the same effect. 
> 
>  
> 
> I would strongly advise that you listen to "Lets Stay Together" by Al Greene when it is introduced in the story because it really gives context. And it is also just the best song.

###  Chapter 4 

It’s either been a long ten minutes or a speedy twenty and the jukebox, seemingly stuck on a Bob Marley playlist, fills the rooms with _Buffalo Soldier_. From what they can hear, the gang has ushered the diner guests into the middle of the room, away from the windows and entrance. They’ve confiscated all they can in the way of phones and wallets. Neither of the two had the foresight to bring their own phones tonight; secretly, both felt it futile given their non-existent list of contacts in the city. Well, the blonde thinks, there’s always his roommate. But he doubts Tauriel would keep her mobile on her at two in the morning, even if he was able to call her.

The two men confined in the cramped bathroom have now gathered that they aren’t the only ones to have made a quick getaway. The owner of the diner – the only person with the key to open up the till – has escaped to the disabled toilet. To the immense relief of those holding out in the bathrooms, the gang has discovered the toilet locks are impossibly efficient; not even a three-bodied shove will budge the door in the slightest. The general consensus made by the intruders is to hold the customers captive for a few more hours until daylight. They can then blackmail the flighty owner for the till money; he will surely have to leave his refuge at some point.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The blonde sighs. 

All in all, worse things have happened. For one thing, he could be sharing his makeshift quarters with someone unpleasant. Although they have yet to pool together ideas, he feels a sense of comradery towards the quiet khaki-cloaked stranger slumped to his right. Implicitly, they have formed a team and are in this together, for which he feels grateful.

For another, he can’t deny he is a huge Marley fan, and he can’t hold back on humming under his breath – albeit monotonously - while he thinks. His companion grunts in recognition when the more popular songs start playing, however he hasn’t actually said a word yet. He starts to think maybe _he_ is the obnoxious person in the situation; as such, he falls silent and wracks his brains for a little bit. Then the idea dawns on him.

“I think I’ve got something,” he whispers, already getting to his feet and reaching for the light switch.  
Khaki guy snaps his head upward, eyeing him with wariness from underneath the bangs that have defiantly freed themselves from a constricting bun.  
“It’s stupid, can’t believe I didn’t think of it before, but they already know they can’t get in here… So we may as well use the light, right?”  
After some consideration the other murmurs softly in agreement and he flicks the switch to illuminate the room. Right, he thinks. Better.

It really doesn’t take long for them to spot the small vent in the top right hand corner of the wall opposite the toilet that is clearly their ticket to the street outside. They silently assess the height at which the vent stands from the ground. They definitely can’t reach it without some kind of leverage. 

The bin is too small. Righto.

They awkwardly come to the conclusion that one of them will have to lift the other up. It is clear that his companion is the lighter and more agile of the two, though slightly taller, and so the decision is made. They also have to assess the diameter of the vent – it looks like they’re going to experience a bit of a squeeze – and they both remove their heavy coats in an act of premeditation.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

He’s secretly glad Equations guy has volunteered to lift him up; he’s pretty sure any upper body muscle he had prior to his reclusive week has disintegrated. A quick and discreet glance at the firm arms now on display tells him he should be able to trust the guy with his body weight, but exactly how this is going to work he can’t really get his head around.

They stand under the vent and when the other man places his hands on his waist he wills himself not to recoil and curses his face for flushing without his permission. This is just too weirdly intimate. As though to make matters a hundred times worse, the jukebox, having come to the end of the Bob Marley playlist, starts playing Al Greene’s _Lets Stay Together_.

As the first few bars of the terribly soulful ballad reach them, Equations guy jumps back from him as though burned. 

"Uh"  
"I- Hmm"

They both clear their throats deeply and he rubs the back of his neck with his hand while his blonde ally bounces his weight from foot to foot casually. He thinks he would rather take his chances with being shot for blatantly walking out the bathroom door and towards the gunmen then do what they’re doing to this song.

_'Cause you... make me feel so brand new...  
And I... want to spend my life with you..._

He doesn’t want to be the one to suggest they wait until the song is over before they try again; he just can’t admit the atmosphere is making him uncomfortable. To his immense relief, Equations guy, who avoids meeting his eyes, is giving off a similar impression. Good. 


	5. Chapter 5; Smoking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The aftermath of escape attempt # 1._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This one is short, only because the internet is going off soon and I won't otherwise be able to post the completed chapter until tomorrow- which doesn't feel like an option today!_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Listening to Talk Show Host by Radiohead.

###  Chapter 5

They’ve avoided mention of the failed escape for a good five minutes now; though once every now and then a pair of eyes flickers to the vent and, just as swiftly, back to the floor. They have lost their sense of urgency; not much seems to be happening outside and they’ve got at least 3 hours until dawn.

Khaki guy surprises him by clearing his throat. He’s been watching him rolling cigarettes with a degree of accuracy he assumes has been achieved with copious amounts of practice. His companion speaks with a low and mellow voice.

“So – uh- I reckon we should discuss what happens once I get up and out.”

He doesn’t bother to pretend he needs to give it more thought than he already has.

“There’s a payphone outside the Corner Store – the one across the street?” The nod of agreement encourages him. “So I’m thinking you run over and call the police; after that, I guess I’ll just have to wait for them to arrive before I can get out.”

Khaki guy nods sheepishly before selecting a fresh fag and lighting it expertly, slowly inhaling the smoke before sagging back against the wall. His mouth forms an ‘O’ and he manages five perfect smoke rings. He looks like a rock icon from the 70s, he thinks, like a mix between Bob Dylan and Jimmy Page; he even has the downtrodden, brooding air. 

 

The object of his gaze is no longer oblivious to his curiosity. “Not a smoker?” he asks mildly. 

He shakes his head; upon confirmation of this obvious fact his companion retorts. “Ever tried?” 

Hesitation, and then another shake of the head.

 

Next thing he knows, the guy who has kept to his own private bubble throughout the night’s crisis is kneeling beside him and passing over the smoldering cigarette in an intimate gesture.


	6. Chapter 6: No Quarter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So the guys are finally getting to know each other; could it be the promising start to a friendship? (You know it is!)_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>    
>  _I couldn't resist injecting some Led Zeppelin into our story; after all, we need Kili to find his feet a little bit in the situation. What better way then some heavy smoking and some Led Zep!_

###  Chapter 6

Led Zeppelin’s _No Quarter_ echoes from the main room. Well _this_ he can enjoy, he thinks, as he blows some more rings, watching them rise lazily to the ceiling before breaking and dispersing to the corners.  


He’s settled closer to his blonde companion; their shoulders are almost touching as he sprawls comfortably, stretching lean legs luxuriously out in front. He takes a drag while he concentrates on formulating some helpful advice. Equations guy is still spluttering after his first drag- which was by no means expertly executed, but to his credit, he only started coughing after he exhaled.

They both sit forward from the wall as he reaches out and patiently offers the smoking cigarette for the second time.

“Alright, so you’ve got to sort of suck in the smoke – wait, not too much, that’s where you went wrong last time – okay, now hold it in here –", his hand falls down to his own chest, “- and then let it go when you’re ready.”

.............................................................................................................

“You smoke often I presume?” He asks, after he’s smoothly – thank God – inhaled and exhaled, holding off on his urge to once again splutter and cough like an inexperienced teenager.

“How did you guess?” 

The voice teases slightly, because everything about this guy screams ‘artful smoker’. They’ve begun to pass the cigarette silently between them like a joint; it’s a nice thing to do and when it burns to the butt, Khaki guy lights another. It starts to rain outside and the smell of the wet asphalt from the street wafts in through the vent.

Now that they have the light on, Equations guy can check his watch for the time; two thirty, he announces, before sighing in what sounds like resignation. He raises his eyebrows at the blonde, inviting his companion to speak. The other is picking at a loose thread on his green sweater distractedly. 

“I’m just a little thrown that its Tuesday-”, is it really _Tuesday_ , he thinks, “- means I have a meeting with my mentor tomorrow and I haven’t done _shit_ with - _urgh_ ”, he pinches the bridge of his noise and abruptly motions for the cigarette, exhaling with a sigh. Better.

He grins. “Look at that, a natural.”

Blonde guy snorts. “My uncle would have my balls for this. Says it interferes with performance. Pretty sure he’s got tobacco confused with weed, but I’m sure as hell not contesting him to his face.” 

“Tough guy?”

He nods. “Police Commissioner back in Chicago. ”

“Ooft.” They both chuckle.

They fall back into a comfortable silence, both men smoking their own cigarettes this time. As they smoke, the blonde displaying increasing proficiency with every cigarette, they are both secretly struck by the pleasantness of this moment. The rain patters softly on the corrugated roof above while the room becomes a pocket of smoky warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Also guys, next chapter (Chapter 7) is going to be a bit different; it's going to be narrated by...someone else. (No, not the fly on the bathroom wall). Let's just see what's going on outside the bathroom, yeah? But the boys will be just where we left them._   
> 


	7. Chapter 7: High as a Kite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What's Fili's roommate been up to tonight? Let's just say he assumed wrongly that she was asleep when he left..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Firstly, this chapter depicts someone high on weed at a party, so if that doesn't sit well with you, I hope this is a helpful warning. I hope I've conveyed the right amount of confusion and humour that comes with being high for the first time._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _I actually really enjoyed writing this and I hope you guys enjoy reading it!_  
>  Definitely more Tauriel/Eowyn bromance to come!

###  Chapter 7

She’s really quite high. High as a kite, she thinks, and the analogy makes her giggle.

The knowledge only dawns on her as she finds herself rummaging fiercely through an unfamiliar pantry - in someone else’s cramped apartment kitchen - without any notion of the thought process that brought her here.

Half a box of taco shells. A half-empty jar of peanut butter. Basically a feast.

Someone else is in the kitchen having a conversation with her. Who they are or what they’re talking about, or even when it was that this conversation began, evades her. Oh Boy.

She feels uncomfortably light - _ungrounded_ is the word, she thinks vaguely. Spoils in hand, she turns and leaves the kitchen; time fractures, so she’s suddenly in the lounge room while a sea of nameless faces swirls around her. Someone calls her name and she snaps out of a reverie she didn’t know she was in.

Eowyn is staring at her expectantly. She’s asked her a question. Probably. Wait- what? 

“Tauri,” she’s repeating, a concerned frown growing on her face, “why the fuck are you eating the poor man’s taco shells?”

What taco shells? Her head is swimming a little. 

“Tauri, you look like you’re going to -”

Her mind is moving at 200 miles per hour, and though she does know she should be listening to her best friend, she’s also thinking she should tell Eowyn to wear her hair out more often. And the lipstick is a nice touch. Oh, but now it’s on her teeth and she wants to reach over and wipe it off. 

“- out.” Out- what? Outside? It belatedly dawns on her that time has fractured again and Eowyn’s just finishing off the same sentence.  
“Tauriel, what are you-!”

She watches pale hands reach out to her friend’s face, fingers heading towards the mouth region as though with the goal of rubbing the lipstick off the teeth. That’s a pretty good idea, why, she’s only just been thinking -  
  
Oh wait, they’re her hands. 

Fuck. 

She’s so confused. And it’s actually absurdly funny.  
But she’s suddenly overcome by an urge to cry. 

“Tauriel,” a calm voice infiltrates the background noise. She turns and meets a familiar set of blue eyes. 

“I’m Legolas-” The name is the magic word; it unlocks memories from earlier on in the night. Legolas reaching out to shake her hand; much later, Legolas offering her a beer; later still, the tall Blonde leading her outside. And then passing her a joint.

“- just talking with you in the kitchen, remember?”

She nods. Yep, that too.

“You look a little overwhelmed.”

She nods again.

“You want to talk?”

She shakes her head. She realises she’s sweating a little, and a paranoid feeling that the whole room is staring at her face creeps up on her. 

“Want to come outside?”

She doesn’t know why but in the space of 30 seconds this guy’s become an anchor and she nods fervently. 

“You sure?” He asks, making eye contact with Eowyn, who is also nodding. Oh yeah, Eowyn’s still here. She waves her goodbye and has to tear her eyes away from the teeth.

"Let’s go.”


	8. Chapter 8: Heroics in a Dumpster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we're back! Hope you didn't mind the little interlude; there are other people in the story who need some limelight, am I right?  
> So- the boys! They're finally doing something constructive. Let's not blame them for taking their time - they were enjoying their bonding session/ gratuitous smoking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey All! Sorry about not updating yesterday, I was busy failing a Chemistry exam. This is totally my therapy._   
>  _Will be striving to update most days though!_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Listening to "Billy- Don't Be a Hero" by Paper Lace (great song!)_

###  Chapter 8

  


“-so he walks in on us, still wearing the cop uniform – gun and everything- and, man, I’ve seriously never gone flaccid so quickly in my life.” Another long drag. “I think I might be psychologically scarred or some shit.”

“No policeman kink for you, then?” Khaki guy is sniggering good-naturedly at the cigarette he’s rolling; they’re scraping the bottom of the tobacco pouch already. 

“Then again,” he adds pensively, turning to scrutinize his companion’s face before bending over to lick along the edge of the cigarette paper, “maybe that’s exactly what you harbor.”

The blonde splutters on his inhale. “ _What?_ ” 

“The mind works in mysterious ways.” The Brunet turns to appraise him again, eyebrows raised in a question and mirth in his eyes. He’s secretly impressed; he’s never met someone so blunt.

“Not _that_ mysterious. I know a gag reflex when I feel it.” 

The guy releases him from his searching gaze and returns to the cigarette, lighting it.

“Well, you never know. I once knew a guy who was so afraid of spiders he-” 

It’s then that they hear a muted scream from the other room.

There’s the sound of scuffling behind the door and then silence. The guys turn to each other, eyes wide; the conversation dissipates between them, along with the smoke from the forgotten cigarettes. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“Shit,” breathes the Blonde.

Another scream, louder this time, brings the boys to their feet. “Holy shit.” 

.....................................................  


Equations guy lunges for the door. He has to grab him by the arm to stop him from impulsively leaping into the darkness outside. “Should we- I mean, I don’t think it’s a good idea-”

The Blonde turns on him, eyes accusing and voice rising slightly. “ _I’m_ not going to sit here while those people out there are terrorized-” 

“-I know but-“

Another scream, the loudest of the three, and he’s having to grab the blonde in a bear hug to restrain him. 

“Think it through a little,” he reasons as calmly as he can manage, “there’s only two of us, no back up. We've already decided on a feasible plan - _shit_ , it's even _your_ idea - so don’t be the hero. Just - help me up.”

He’s gesturing towards the vent, and before they know it they’re over against the tiled wall with the blonde grasping his hips and propelling him upwards while he reaches desperately to get a hold on the ledge. The Blonde grunts with the effort to lift him, arms now around his knees, while he adjusts his grasp and starts to haul himself over the small sill. There is a fly screen at the mouth of the passage which is easily pushed aside and suddenly his upper body is hanging out in the cold street over a reeking dumpster.

“Fuck, pull me back a little would you? I’m hanging in the street. ” 

The other makes to bring him further back inside, but at that moment another scream startles them - not to mention the fact that gravity is taking hold- and his legs begin to slip through the strong arms of his companion. 

“I don’t know if -“

He’s flailing his arms to find some kind of anchorage, but comes into contact with nothing. There’s a loud crash as he falls head first into the garbage below. Gross.

“Shit! Are you okay?” Equations guy sounds worried, so he resolves to muster up a reassuring reply.

  
“Ugh.”

“I’m sorry man-” 

“No worries,” he croaks, “I landed in the dumpster- I’m okay.”

He’s swimming through the rubbish bags towards the edge of the dumpster that's closest to him. _God, I’m unfit,_ he thinks as he hears his own wheezing at the effort. 

“O-okay then. Good.” The wheezing hasn’t helped his case and the Blonde sounds unconvinced. Fucking cigarettes, he thinks mildly, trying to gain some composure.

......................................................................

“I’m climbing out now,” Khaki guy describes, “and then I’m heading over to the phone. The police will be here soon. Don’t freak out.” As if as an afterthought he adds, putting on a deep southern accent, “Don't be a hero, Billy boy.” 

He holds back a chuckle at the Paper Lace reference; he loves that song.

“You too man. And um –good luck.”


	9. Chapter 9: Get that man a cigarette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We already know how the night ended, but how did everything eventuate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey guys, another short chapter (just to tease)!_

###  Chapter 9

  
He wakes to the invasive chorus of monitors beeping. 

The sharp smell of steel and antiseptic fills his nostrils and - though he doesn’t quite know how it wasn’t his main concern upon gaining consciousness -he’s now aware of a strange ache in his ribs and hand.  


It’s a very particular, inaccessible pain, so from experience he’s pretty sure he’s broken some bones. Inaccessible in more ways than one, because he’s now realized- upon clenching his intact hand -that he has been, essentially, straightjacketed .

He reevaluates the facts at hand; he’s lying on his back in a hard bed with tightly tucked, crisp sheets - all this in a metallic smelling room filled with machinery. Being the intelligent man he is, he’s quite sure he’s ended up in a hospital ward. 

The question is; how?

Cracking one eye open, he flinches from the blinding light that hangs overhead. He tries to move, finding himself too constricted for comfort, but as his blood pressure rises the machines call out to the nurses on shift. He finds himself reprimanded by a matronly woman who marches over and tells him to lie still. He’s broken two fingers and one rib; he should know better. 

_Shit_ he thinks. _I need a cigarette._

  
.......................................................................................................................  
He wakes again what feels like a minute later. The pain has increased in intensity and he cries out to nobody in particular.

“Somebody get that guy a cigarette.” 

The teasing voice comes from the bed next-door. He turns his head and, although the curtains separating their cots remain undrawn, he grins, knowing who’s on the other side.

“Fuck, man. Why are we here?” 

The flow of conversation is slightly hindered by the beeping monitors that seem to be competing with each other for attention.

“You seriously don’t remember?” 


	10. Chapter 10: The Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now let's retrace our steps a little. Back to the party!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I totally did that on purpose. You can't blame me for teasing, it's just so fun! Don't worry, you'll find out what happened in due course._   
>  _But you know what else is fun..._

###  Chapter 10

  
“Um, so, do you need anything to drink?” He asks gently, craning his neck to assess her carefully. “My friend Gimli’s right over there with some orange juice.”

He motions towards a very conspicuous short man with a fabulous red beard who is dancing like a nut while cradling an enormous juice carton in his arms. The scene is so bizarre she could easily be hallucinating, except she doubts her imagination is wild enough to conjure such a vision. As if on cue, Gimli turns their way and lets out a shout of jubilation upon spotting his friend.  


“Legs, my man! How’s it hanging! Want some juice?”

She can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation; this man Gimli has started making his way drunkenly towards them, juice sloshing from the carton all the while, leaving a pulpy river in his wake. He pauses a couple of meters away and peers at her through the darkness. 

“Who’ve you got there?” 

“This is Tauriel; she’s Fili’s roommate.”

She doesn’t remember divulging this particular information, but then again, she doesn’t remember most of the night’s happenings and it’s probably better that way. 

“Ah! Love that kid!” He passes over the carton in a show of comradery, and she gratefully takes a swig of the best orange juice she has ever tasted. “Where is he tonight, huh?”

Memory triggered, she recalls carefully sneaking past Fili’s snoozing form, Eowyn in tow, leaving him to dribble onto an open notebook. 

“I left him sleeping on the couch earlier.”

“You should go upstairs and drag him out! He’s missing the party!” He turns away from them to down a mouthful of juice, following its departure with a loud burp. He turns back to Legolas. “So, Legolas, I see you’ve been treating the younglings to your special herbs.”  
He raises his eyebrows pointedly at a small circle of friends lying in a star formation on the grass, several members cooing at the night sky. 

“Oh. Yeah, thought it might be a nice way to make friends.” 

“Mm, absolutely nothing to do with promoting your product.”

They both laugh knowingly, but Tauriel’s full attention has been otherwise absorbed. 

......................................................  
She’s quite sure this time she truly has entered a full-on hallucination.

“Please tell me there wasn’t acid in your juice.”

Gimli and Legolas look up at her, laughter frozen on their shocked faces.

“Jeez Tauriel, what kind of people do you think we are?” 

There’s such sincerity in their faces that she has to consider the possibility that the girl who’s just glided through the door is not a vision and is, in fact, real.  


This is confirmed when Legolas perks up and waves at the not-vision. “Hey Arwen! Over here!”  


The glorious head turns their way and Tauriel’s heart stops.  


“Come and meet Tauriel!”


	11. Chapter 11: Comfortably Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, at the hospital.....not much is up......

###  Chapter 11

It’s too sterile an environment to be comfortably high.  


He can feel his jaw slacken and his hands feel like weightless balloons. He may as well be on a low dose of angel dust, but realistically, he knows he’s being fed copious amounts of morphine from a drip. He feels like he’s living that Pink Floyd song –what’s it called-  


He's interrupted by a moan.

“Man I’m stoned.”  


They’ve been communicating disjointed and completely random thoughts through the curtain since his initial waking. There is an unspoken agreement between them that nothing said in their delirious state will be held against them sober. As such, he feels no hesitation speaking his mind. Wherever it’s gone.  


“Hey, is that you singing _Comfortably Numb_ ?"  


Was he humming out loud? Huh.  


“Some friendly advice? “- The Blonde continues –“Don’t lick the metal handle bars. Drives the nurses nuts.”  


He starts to laugh, hoping his friend hasn't discovered this through experience, but the stress on his diaphragm irritates the broken rib and he ends up coughing pathetically.  


“Ever heard of Francis Bacon?”  


The Blonde takes a long time to respond, and when he does, it’s not entirely coherent.  


“Maybe. Why?”  


He himself is starting to fade, the world tunneling in and going fuzzy at the edges. “I met him last week at the train station.”  


“Nurse,” - Blonde slurs in the warden's general direction, though he barely registers it -“I want what he’s having please.”  


It's true though, he thinks, before he closes his eyes and drifts.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Short and sweet!_   
>  _He seriously did meet Francis Bacon though!_


	12. Chapter 12: Ethereal Creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody's not so happy to see sparks between the leading ladies...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _We all know a person like Arwen. And sadly I'm sure we've all been the person who falls for them._

###  Chapter 12

As Arwen floats past the drunken party goers towards them, mineral water in hand, a hush falls over the group. She seems to have that effect on people, he thinks, smirking secretly to himself at the thought of Arwen being widely revered as an ethereal entity as opposed to his roommates’ drug-addled girlfriend.

She does, however, look nice tonight with her long hair billowing out behind her and her flawless lean legs peeking through the slit in the floor-length, pleated spaghetti strapped dress. She bestows a radiant smile on the dreamy-eyed Gimli and nods her head carefully in his direction.

She makes to settle gracefully on the grass a few meters in front of the group, and they all migrate to form a circle around her, much to his undisclosed annoyance.

“So, Tauriel,” he starts pleasantly, “Arwen here is staying in the apartment next to ours-“  
Gimli interjects, “- which means across from you guys!”

Tauriel looks like a deer in headlights.

 _Here we go_ , he thinks. A new addition to the Arwen Worship Committee. And he was really warming up to the new girl.

“Your hair is so striking to me,” Arwen articulates softly. “Are you a Sagittarius?”

She’s leaning in strategically close to the other woman, catching strands of the red locks in between her fingers and admiring them with a child-like curiosity. Watching Tauriel, he thinks has never seen someone sit so still; he’s got a suspicion that she’s not even breathing.

“It’s just, there’s something about you that’s really familiar. Do you believe in fate?”

Tauriel’s face cracks into the most beatific smile and he knows she’s lost to the elegant creature before her. Arwen smiles back warmly and the spell is cast.

He doesn’t want to sit and watch this shit; as such he gets up to leave the circle, causing Gimli to snap his head upwards and meet his eyes.

“Where’re you off to?”

“Well, dear Gimli, we’ve got 3 hours til dawn, and a pouch full of weed. I’m not sure about you, but I’m getting fucked up on the roof.”

Gimli scrambles to his feet. 

………………………………………………………………….. 

He’s really grateful for the companionship and takes comfort in the sound of his best mate’s heavy footfalls beside him. On a spur of the moment impulse he turns back and calls over his shoulder.

“Arwen? Don’t get too fucked up tonight. I promised Aragorn I wouldn’t let it happen.”


	13. Chapter 13: A Hairy Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili meets the wrath of Thorin while Kili hallucinates in the next bed (although, we'll hear about that next time)...

###  Chapter 13

He’s dreaming about a series of equations. He has to solve them within the time limit and he’s desperately trying to decipher them, even though they clearly make no sense. He keeps repeating the important facts over in his mind. The triangle can fit in the circle; the square is really a series of triangles. He clings to these small truths and it’s exhausting him to have to concentrate so hard.

He wakes up but remains with his eyes shut. He’s previously dappled in Vipassana Mediation and he uses the technique to survey his body. The objective is to maintain neutrality towards the pleasure and pain he comes across within his own flesh and bone.

Starting at his head, he moves, scanning slowly, down his neck and finds no pain there. He rests in this safe zone for a little while before migrating to his shoulder. Bad idea. He’s still on the morphine but he flinches. Move on to the elbow, he wills himself - but he’s never really been able to remain objective during Vipassana and today is no exception. 

He’s lying there, thinking vaguely about death and the thesis he has to write, when somebody clears their throat. His eyes fly open and he’s suddenly faced with the sight of his Uncle standing at the foot of his bed with a very non-sympathetic expression on his face.

“Thorin.”

“What were you thinking?” 

Internally he rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t think to bring a phone with you? You – what? – thought nothing about the possibility of something happening at one thirty in the _goddamn_ -" the word is whispered discreetly "- morning?” 

His Uncle isn’t shouting; in fact he’s seething so quietly one could mistake him for being calm.

He suddenly feels quite small and young again as he shies from the very familiar, exceedingly hairy man in front of him. 


	14. Chapter 14: Figure with Meat (1954)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the painting by Francis Bacon (so, to clear things up; Kili is clearly a Bacon fan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ps: I'm not making a crude comment with the guy dressed as the Pope being there, that is literally what the painting features, so sorry if I upset anyone!_

###  Chapter 14

He’s standing in the middle of a dark room. He doesn’t know the limits to the expanse of empty space, nor where the light switch must be, so, arms out in front, zombie style, he makes his way slowly and carefully forward, anticipating a boundary at some point.  


He walks like this for several minutes. The only sounds he hears are his own labored breath and heartbeat. Both of which are quickening as fear creeps up on him.

There’s someone else in the room with him. 

He knows it somehow, the same way he knows he’s very exposed, possibly nearing the middle of the space and with nowhere to hide. He hears a rustle behind him and nearly jumps out of his own skin.

He tries to cry out, but he has no voice. He’s also realized that he’s naked and shivering from the cold; though goosebumps of another kind coat his body. He crouches and reaches his arms around himself for warmth and comfort.

His torso is strangely insubstantial. In the dark, he feels his hands disappear into a hot, wet cavity where they should be meeting the firm structure of ribs and muscle through the skin barrier. His ears are ringing and he goes numb with shock. 

He has no ribs.

At that point a blinding light flickers on above. He is greeted by the chilling sight of a man dressed in the Pope's robes sitting on a throne several feet away, surrounded by the bisected ribcages of several cows. He spots a set on the man’s right hand side that look human. The Pope leers at him as he begins to scream.

…………………………………………………………………

Someone is violently shaking him. He opens his eyes and screams again as Cousin It in the flesh towers over him, grasping his shoulders in an ungentle fashion. He can’t reconcile this madness; that is until Cousin It slowly morphs into a tall, hairy – man.  


He can’t stop thrashing on the bed.

He’s still so utterly confused and he’s desperately searching around the fluorescently lit room for some kind of assurance.

He finds it in the very familiar face he spots peeking from behind the curtain. 

The Blonde looks deeply shaken, his face relaying sincere pity and a hint of curiosity as he stares unblinkingly back.

To his horror, hot tears begin to roll down his cheeks as he gasps for air. Only a dream. He feels a warm hand on his arm as the towering man looks into his face and shakes his head.

“Don’t cry, son," he says, voice deadpan, "it’s only hair.”


	15. Chapter 15: Thorin disapproves

###  Chapter 15

Thorin, now reclaiming his seat by his bedside, leans in conspiratorially, head tilted the direction of his sleeping companion.

“He smells like an ashtray.”

“He smokes, yes.” He shrugs his shoulders coolly.

“Well, he looks like a punk.”

“Maybe he is one.” _Who’s judging? You?_

Thorin’s eyebrows dramatically encroach on his hairline. “Mm.” He sits back in his seat.

“Thanks for shaking him awake though.” He’s casually fiddling with the intravenous from the crook of his arm. He meets Thorin’s stare plainly. “You know – I mean, you couldn’t know, not even he remembers, but - he saved my life.”

Thorin looks up in surprise. He glances over to the other bed and back to his nephew. Huh.

“He was probably high.”

“Uncle!”


End file.
